


Places Where Their Hearts Collide

by tlzts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baker!Harry, Director!Louis, Doctor!Liam, Just another AU, M/M, comedian!Niall, kind of?, runner!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:43:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlzts/pseuds/tlzts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is a comedian, Harry works at a bakery, Louis is a director, Liam is a doctor, and Zayn runs... </p><p>OR </p><p>the one where five separate lives are going in parallel lines until they happen to bleed into one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: Colors

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's song 'One,' a twist off the lyric, "another place to let their hearts collide . . . " 
> 
> **REGARDING THE SEQUEL: I know this isn't the sequel to my Ziam one shot you might have been expecting, but I promise that it is coming. I plan on it being my longest fic thus far, so writing it has been a bit of a monster. If it's any consolation, I have known what will happen for months now and... if all goes well, part one might be up soon. :) 
> 
> **REGARDING THIS FIC: Honestly, I wrote this for me, to come to terms with some of my own personal stuff. I'm not having anyone beta this, simply because I don't see this being much or taking up much time and right now it seems like a good idea (but maybe later, it won't?)...  
> I've been thinking about this story for quite a while. I can't promise you that it ends happily, but I am a sucker for them, so chances are I may alter the ending I already have in mind, depending on how it feels inside the story. 
> 
> **DISCLAIMER: I do not know the boys, and this is entirely fictional. 
> 
> **ABOUT THIS FIC, REGARDING LENGTH: I imagine this to be around 5-10k. There will be four parts, including this first introduction section. The next two will be far longer, if you're curious. The length of the last one will match this first section, though. 
> 
> **A LAST NOTE: Anyway, any and all mistakes are my own. And if you happen to take anything away from this, awesome. If anything, I hope you find it enjoyable, different even from other fics maybe? 
> 
> On with the reading.

Orange. 

When Niall thinks of the color, he thinks of laughter. Something about it invites a warm, fuzzy feeling to wrap around him, and he associates it with how it feels to get a reaction, to feel, for a second, like he belongs somewhere. On restless nights, he hopes to turn these seconds into minutes, hours, days. He has spent his life searching for how to hold on to it so it lasts longer than just a smile, a chuckle. It seems unreachable and he knows it's probably impossible, to try to capture time like that. 

Most nights, he dreams in orange. 

*****

Green. 

The camera light blinks three times and then beeps, signaling that recording has started. Louis thinks green is hopeful. He never imagined to be where he is at, and to think it all started just a few years ago, when he picked up his sister's camera and realized there is an art to it, to not just shoot a video, but to express emotions and a message in such a limited amount of time. 

It's silly, but when the camera flickers to shine the green light labeled "Go," Louis thinks of hope. 

*****

Blue. 

Harry looks up at the sign, with its simplistic design that decorates _Oliver's Bakery._ Just the words and a blue background. But, the color is so calming, familiar somehow. The rain had weathered the sign just a bit, but it was still intact and readable. The tiny white spots breaking through the blue paint were noticeable, but not distracting. Like human scars. 

And it's a ritual for him. Every day, he goes to work, staring into the blue, imagining how they could have changed the sign, made it stand out more... None of that matters, though. 

See, he finds the plainness beautiful. It wasn't boring, no. The words mixed with the blue and the freckles of the original paint shining through represented a kind of resilience through time. 

*****

Purple. 

The sticker Liam got from Medical School was purple and said "Congratulations." He had just passed his Boards and they gave him it as a joke, but he loved what it signified, so he kept it on the back of his phone case, a constant reminder of what he had accomplished. Because the journey had not been easy, Liam used tangible things as anchors, holding on to what he could as the world spun helplessly around him. 

Purple stood out to him, out of all the colors, and represented routine... the kind of predictability he clung to, the kind of predictability that got him from one day to the next. 

*****

And, red. 

The first time Zayn had tried running, he saw red, which was probably not a good thing. He wasn't used to it, and he had pushed himself too far, the whole time being far too aware he should stop when it got to be too much. Except when his brain started to send these signals to take a break, that was the moment it all clicked, and he didn't want to stop. It felt too _right,_ and he loved it. Sure, he took some sips of water here and there to stay hydrated and he made sure to keep his breathing in check, but he maintained his pace and continued on. 

That first run, he saw red, but to Zayn, red only meant passion.


	2. Chapter 1: Five Parallel Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the story actually begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning section, ‘Introduction: Colors’ was for opening this story, but I do not consider it a chapter. 
> 
> Here is where the story officially starts. As you can see, there are two more updates to go after this one. However, the last section will be much like the first, so the actual story will be contained mainly within this chapter and the next one. 
> 
> Sorry, this has taken so long. With studying and other things to take care of, I had little time to devote to this chapter. 
> 
> And yes, the colors are still very much a part of each chapter, if you pay close attention. :)

**Niall**

“I always thought it would be so sick to be a singer, ya know? Getting paid to sing? That’s the craic right there. Only problem is people would always get my name wrong. My stage name… what is it, folks?” Niall started his routine opener.

Everyone knew this bit and he paused for dramatic effect, knowing there would be a few, as there always were some in every crowd, that would finish his running joke with him.

A couple screams, and he chuckles into the microphone, “That’s right. ‘Nailled it,’ two L’s. How ya doing, Doncaster? Let’s chill for the next hour or so, get comfy, and have a laugh together? What do ya say?”

The crowd cheers as he takes a sip of water from one of the bottles on the table. He settles down on to the stool, placed behind the microphone stand and slips into coziness, the audience’s warmth, and the comfortable, familiar aura.

He sets the microphone back into its stand and it feels like home.

The shows always follow a similar pattern: a couple short jokes in the beginning to gain a feel of the audience, see what they seem to be interested in, a short break, and then the longer joke portion, followed by a short Question and Answer session he liked to call the “Ask Horan, Niall tells” session, so that people could get to know him a little better.

As he goes through his set, he always thinks about his first gig, how he had hoped ‘PhenomeNIALL’ would catch on as a stage name.

But, it didn’t.

Instead, ‘Nailled it’ grew popular enough to be inserted into his opening sequence, simply because it was far too easy to transpose the letters.

He had no stage name for his first tour of five gigs in local pubs. He introduced himself as ‘Niall Horan, comedian of the night’ which sufficed. But, he didn’t realize how successful it would be.

With this new fifteen-gig UK tour, there were about 50-100 people at each show, very intimate, which he preferred. After the first few shows, the word spread about the cheeky comedian from Ireland, whose jokes might still be on the amateur level but were funny nonetheless and more importantly never offensive to anyone. Even better, the jokes typically made he, himself laugh, thus dubbing him “infectious” because his laughter provoked others to laugh with him… and so the nickname was given to the Mullingar lad. He discovered the crowds were calling him this halfway through his fifteen-gig UK tour, which he was currently in the midst of wrapping up.

He thinks back to that moment, reminiscing.

_A fan had come up to him at the end of the show, asking for an autograph and right when Niall was about to sign his name, the man piped up, “Oh, is there any way you could sign both names?”_

_“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, confused._

_“Not sure if you’re aware, bro, but people call you “Infectious” ‘cos your laugh, and if you could sign that too, I think I’d be the first to have an autograph like that. I’m a big fan,” he muttered, and Niall could see the enthusiasm the man was trying to contain._

_“Wow, didn’t know you’re calling me that, that’s awesome,” the comedian grinned and broke into laughter._

_As the man walked away, clearly excited, Niall took the time to consider himself fortunate to have such a cool group of fans, just a lovely atmosphere of positive people all there for some laughs that he hoped to provide._

This show was no exception. It was the second to last of this ‘Let’s laugh’ tour. As he walked back to the stool with the break having just finished, he noticed one man in particular, the one who was having a good time in the second row during the first part of the set. Here he was giggling over his longer section of the set and Niall found himself feeding off the guy’s reactions and expressions.

 _Must be a journalist,_ Niall thought, noticing the notepad.

The thought left his mind as he set up the details surrounding his final joke. The erupting laughter he was hoping for came, along with a standing ovation.

 _Just the Q and A, and then heading to London in a few days for the final show,_ Niall reminded himself, _Almost over. Then, more time to develop more jokes, better jokes, try to pitch another tour, maybe find some gigs or something…_

His thoughts clutched onto him, keeping him frozen. The doubts and fears were swallowing him. He shook them off and let his vision readjust to what was in front of him. About half the audience had left after his set, some probably unaware of this final segment.

His eyes focused on the man he noticed earlier, the one with the notepad. He was now sat in the front row, center, and had his hand raised, eyes hopeful and a question ready on his lips.

Niall nodded at him, to proceed.

“Say, what are you doing after your last show next week? Any plans for another tour,” the man not much older than him inquired, in a crisp Donny accent.

The audience chuckled, and sure, the question was framed a bit suggestive. He had never openly admitted his sexuality, but perhaps that was because he was unclear himself. People were all different, and it was unfair of anyone to think that a simple answer could be given. If he gave it enough thought though, maybe the simplest he could offer would be that ‘people fall in love with whoever they’re meant to, and that’s just gotta be good enough to accept.’

He decided to answer honestly, “Well, buddy. I have no plans, but I’d love to go on tour again, if possible. Having too much fun.”

“Would I be able to talk to you after this? I don’t know how these go, but I’ll stick around as long as it takes, if you’re willing to have a chat,” he continued.

“Uhh, okay,” Niall grinned, caught a bit off guard. _What’s happening?_

Three more questions came in and were all easy enough to answer, but were all wondering about certain jokes he had said, so the answers took time to dig into the reasons why he chose to share them, his writing process, and what had happened to the couple standing in front of the store in his ridiculous Pants joke.

As people were finally leaving, only Niall and the man from earlier were left in the venue.

“I’m Louis. I thought your water joke* was great. So relatable. I’d be that guy with my friends, saying something silly like that,” he mentioned, despite Niall still having no idea where the conversation was heading.

“Hi, Louis. Glad you liked that one. What can I help you with,” he stated in a direct manner, not really making the effort to sound overly curious… and half a second later, he hoped it didn’t sound too rude. All he wanted was to get back to his hotel sooner than later, take a bath, and maybe get some room service.

“Well, Mr. Horan,” Louis started, and for the first time, he didn’t look nervous at all, but rather professional and committed to whatever idea was stirring in that head of his.

Niall was hearing words but not connecting any meaning to them. “I’m sorry, Louis. Could you repeat that, please?”

“No problem, Niall. I’m a telly director. If you’re interested, I would love to create a reality series surrounding your interesting life which could gain you more fans and help with promotion.”

He paused to watch the younger man’s face and then continued on, reassuring him, “It’s just an idea. I haven’t done anything like this, but we would only shoot a little bit each day, say, two hours. I’ve been given the Thursday slot, so we would air an episode every week at 9. I’m new to the company so the series would only be given five episodes to see how ratings go and then if people like it, as I’m sure they will, you’ll get a full run.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. But, he was intrigued. If anything, it would be nice to share some of his life with his fans that would surely watch. Perhaps, he could even get the promo needed for another tour, so that would be a plus. And he might enjoy not feeling so lonely on those nights between tours, when he’s unsure where the next year will take him.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of it being reality. Even with that uneasiness filling in his stomach, he found himself asking, “What would I have to do?”

“Whatever you want, Ni. Can I call you that? You’re free to call me ‘Lou.’ So, anyway, you do whatever, go wherever, and we just film. It’s just for viewers to see what you do and what your life is like, how you’re a normal lad. Now, the company studio is in London, so we’d have to meet there once a week to sit down together and choose which bits to include and what to cut. On your end, I’d say just be yourself really. I’d take care of any messy things and getting your show the press and promo it deserves… I know I’m throwing a lot at you, but take your time. I don’t need an answer for another three weeks. Let me know either way, okay, mate? If you’re not cool with it, I’d still like to be your friend. You seem like an alright guy, Niall,” Louis promised, handing over his information.

With that, Niall was left with a conflicted feeling. It weighed on his emotions, but he was rather proud to be given the offer.

He arrived at his hotel room and before going to bed, he added Louis’ number to his phone along with a reminder to call him the following week because he decided he would definitely wait until after his final show and once he could ask his family their thoughts since surely they might appear in an episode or two.

 _The Doncaster show went better than I thought it would go, in most regards_ , he decided, and right before he fell asleep as per usual, he drank a tall glass of orange juice.

**Louis**

There was just a week left until his deadline, and Louis was very aware of it. He had a countdown going on his calendar, in his phone, and he woke up every day saying how many days were left until he had to come up with something.

He was desperately hoping Niall would come through because it was his best idea in months and the channel was already on board, if that was the direction he was going in.

He just needed to hear a “yes,” which he was expecting sooner, but had he been in his shoes, he would have taken some time with a decision as well.

As a “smart move” from the company, he agreed to a backup plan:

So, here he sat, interviewing twenty hopefuls, some of which he was sure had made up their “hidden talents” based off of their inability to perform them when asked and the other half were only there to please their parents based off their body language.

He played with his camera and smiled at the second lady to show up wearing glitter and stilettos and far too much makeup. She was the second lady to come in, saying in a tone that was supposed to sound shocked, “Is this not the Broadway auditions? A TV show? Let me tell you, I have quite the crazy life…”

He could see right through these people, only wanting a platform to find success of any kind. But, that wasn’t what Louis Tomlinson signed up for. Those kind of people irked him.

He wanted someone real, someone substantial. Someone with a story to tell, a story that no one was expecting.

Two more people came in, the first was a singer with a passion for acting and wanted to incorporate both into the show, the second of which had no talents but admitted they would do anything the producers asked if it meant they got the job.

Disheartened, he resigned himself to the fact that no one that had come in to the small room was going to do it for him.

He wanted Niall Horan.

Getting into his car, Louis sighed.

_Perhaps, the ballet lady would be decent. I just don’t want it to turn any viewers away. Ballet is definitely not going to interest most males, and children aren’t too big on reality tv, err, their parents won’t want them watching reality…_

He takes the turns necessary to find himself nearly home. He is going through the motions and is approaching the final light before his street. Of course, with nothing going right, he is forced to stop.

 _Hell, I could literally park this car along the street here and walk home,_ Louis argues with the stoplight.

His phone chirps, a call coming in. An unknown number.

Putting it on speaker, he says, “Hello?”

“Louis! It’s Niall Horan. Sorry it’s taken so long to get an answer to ya. Had to talk with my parents and brother first,”

Heart racing, Louis struggles to get the words out, “And what’s your decision then?”

“I’m in,” the comedian declared, just as the light turns green.

**Harry**

Harry had not grown up here, but that did not mean he didn’t call London “home.”

He had grown used to it over the years. It actually fit his life better, if he really thought about it.

The bakery was fun, and there was no debate: he was staying. Life proved to be too hard back “home,” and some of those people were just completely unaccepting.

His family, of course, would always support him, but he had to get away from the darkness, the constant stabs in the back, all the blows to his integrity.

The bakery was easy. Make the pastries, greet the customers, count the register, go home. The smile went from being pasted on to naturally appearing.

Oliver’s was easy, safe. _I need safe, I need easy right now,_ Harry urged, _and here I can be who I am at the same time._

Ironically, despite the sign being _that_ shade, Oliver’s actually took away some of the blue out of Harry’s life.

**Liam**

There’s a sense of urgency.

Nothing holds Liam back.

360\. Alex is in 360.

Alex has cancer and should be in the Oncology Unit but since she is a baby, she is under his care in the Pediatrics Unit.

The pager beeps a third time and he silences it, only because he is currently running out of the elevator down the halls towards the room anyway.

 _Why does the hospital have to have two floors for Peds anyway? Why is it so damn big? Because it’s a top drawer hospital, Liam,_ he reminds himself, _and you should consider yourself lucky to have gotten the job here._

He’s out of breath, but he has only passed room 310.

Five more rooms to go, he doesn’t slow down.

Outside 320, the doctor taking care of the first three rooms is consoling a couple. He wonders for half a second, if perhaps he could have saved the child in that room, but hates himself for thinking such a thing. _Tim is a fantastic doctor, he did everything he could._

A nurse is going into 350, taking care of a little boy being discharged. He can hear the family bringing a wheelchair to the room behind him.

360\. 

He steps inside the room, out of breath, and sees Alex being held by her mother, gigging.

“Wh-“

“Doctor Payne,” Alex’s mother starts, and for a second, like he always does, he sees the irony of the title, why some parents are hesitant to have their pride and joy’s taken care of by a man called ‘Dr. Payne.’ Hell, he would be leery as well.

“We’re taking Alex home today. Dr. Jones finished the testing last night, when you were on call. She’s gone into remission,” she continues, teary-eyed.

“We want to thank you for everything you have done,” adds Alex’s father.

Liam breathes a huge sigh of relief at the good news, and tears well in his eyes. He had grown fond of the baby girl and is thrilled for both her and the parents.

He hugs them, and as they head towards the elevator, the long way he just ran minutes ago, Liam lets himself take it all in.

He remembers how far he has come in his journey. Med. School, tons of jobs and applying for scholarships to help with the tuition. The long hours of studying. The lack of sleep. The week of Boards. The final prize.

He remembers how he almost chose not to become a doctor, merely because of one sole fact: there wasn’t a hospital anywhere remotely close to where he lived.

He was family-oriented and it gave him this energy, this strength, to see them on a daily basis.

But, his family was also the reason he ended up going for it. They believed in him.

And, his patients give him what he needs. He loves the satisfaction of helping kids feel better and doing everything he can to get them well. He usually succeeds.

It’s the ones he can’t heal that tear him up the most. They tend to remind him of that unsolvable part of himself. The part that eats him away if he thinks about it for too long. And, it’s probably silly. That doesn’t change the fact that he gets hung up on it from time to time.

See, sometimes, he misses his target. Sometimes, it’s not once, not just the second time either, but all three opportunities he is given.

He doesn’t cry.

He swallows the bitterness, blinks away the hollowness, and braces himself.

 _He will hit the mark this next time_ , he convinces himself.

There is a sense of urgency, yet something holds him back.

Finally, he aims.

He shoots.

And where do you think that arrow lands?

His shift ends later that day, and he drives away from the hospital, thinking about how Alex will finally sleep in her own crib tonight, the first time in weeks.

He returns home and looks in the mirror. The nagging feeling hasn’t left this past week, but maybe it will now that baby Alex has been given a blessing. These tiny victories are so important to him.

He sees the marks on his arm from his own knuckles that he punched into his skin a few days earlier. The bruises are still purple.

He tugs his sleeve back down, not knowing what emotion to feel.

**Zayn**

Living right on the skirts of London has its perks.

A quiet peace wrapped around Zayn’s town, and should he need the feel of the bigger city, it was within a mile’s jog.

Today was like most Saturdays. He had free time and he used it for running.

It wasn’t exercise, but a means for thinking clearly. Deep thoughts on the inhales, releasing any stress on the exhales.

He preferred not to run with music, like most people, because it actually messed up his mindset. The idea of running to a set playlist felt too structured. _Makes you feel like you have to run to the beat, or worse, run until the songs run out_ , he thought, _and that’s the scary thing: With music, you lose track of time. I like the silence because my own voice breaks up my thoughts and reminds me when it is time to call it a day._

So, he keeps his tank on and trades his jeans for running shorts, his favorite pair that has pockets, and stuffs his phone and some money into them. Grabbing a bottle of water, he heads out, taking the familiar route he always does.

He passes residential homes, and making his way to the next city over, which requires him running over the bridge connecting the two towns, he finds himself staring at the many offices and buildings London has to offer that he has seen countless times now.

He passes quaint, little shops he imagines girls his age drag their boyfriends into and many eateries tucked into the narrow streets.

Far ahead, he also sees the outline of the General Hospital of London. It is a massive building and while it probably offers the best care within miles, _it’s not exactly close enough in case of an emergency…_ Zayn has thought often.

Still, he runs on, and as he comes to his favorite spot, a park he likes to run through before turning back around, he notices a subtle change in the air.

Maybe it is just him?

But, something doesn’t feel right. It’s not the running. It’s not that he doesn’t feel well.

He looks around and realizes there are quite a few couples around him, sitting on the benches.

 _How ironic they all pick today, to taunt me like this,_ Zayn chooses then to focus on his breathing and turns prematurely to head back home.

 _Not in the mood for this today,_ he sighs.

He notices a flower shop on his way home.

They are selling red roses. He has some change in his pocket, enough for one flower, so he buys one, and despite not having anyone to give it to, he was going to keep it, perhaps a reminder of sorts…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This always happens, lol. The length of each boy never is equal. Sorry? I’m not a believer that each section has to be equal anyway, if they’ve said all they needed to say. 
> 
> 2) Also, if you’re curious about Niall’s water joke* that Louis enjoyed, I imagined it to having gone something like this: 
> 
> Niall: So, you know when you are out to eat with your friends and the waiter comes around to collect the drink orders and there is always that one friend, that one person, that always has to get water every time, and then another friend says that they should get something stronger? Well, recently I was “that friend” and when my buddy suggested I get something else, I said, “Too much water isn’t a bad thing. Plus, the refills are free.” Later, downing my third glass, I was still getting teased about it, so I said, “Lads, when has water ever killed anybody?” Everyone stared at me and in that moment all I could think to do was take a quiet sip from my neon green bendy straw (that’s all the restaurant had) and say, “Only me. Yeah, for fuck’s sake, I heard it.”


	3. Bleeding Into One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the 2nd part of this story (just imagine the previous chapter and this one being the bulk of the story). The 4th “chapter” will mirror the structure of the introduction… which will be up immediately (a few minutes) after this is posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough waiting. Here it finally is. I’m sorry it has taken this long. A lot of things happened, and time got away from me. I’m currently writing this as I procrastinate on academic things that desperately need to get done, but hey, those things can wait another day. 
> 
> Thanks to Derek, I have had the means to keep writing this, even when I wanted to leave it unfinished at one point. 
> 
> @Guilty1dlove, yes, I did use your suggestion for Harry as you’ll see. It was too good and too funny not to be included. I want to thank you for inspiring me to keep up with this fic as well. I can finally let you know it is done, rather than my annoying “almost” or “soon” messages. 
> 
> As a reminder, keep a look out for how the colors play into this chapter.

**Niall**

It’s funny in a not funny way how his entire life, Niall wanted to be taken seriously. There was an art to it, timing things correctly. 

He finds himself saying, “I’ve always known, to some extent, that I’ve had to work at being funny. More often than not, my jokes are only funny to myself. But no one says anything, so it’s something you figure out on your own.” 

Louis gives him a sympathetic look, but urges him to continue. 

“Even life, you could say, is like that. Trying to figure things out and it’s like everybody knows the joke and the punchline, and you’re struggling to discover it all on your own while everyone else gets handed it, y’know?” 

Tears started to well in his eyes, and damn, Niall cringed watching this rough cut of the pilot episode for the first time. 

The emotional confession then cut to a twenty second package, showing brief snippets of what to expect from the next episode.

He pulled out his laptop and sent over an email to Louis, explaining his excitement for the episode to air and how “REAL-ly emotional” it got so fast (he had forgotten the cameras recording him within an hour that first week). 

He also thanked him yet again for the opportunity.

Then, Niall made dinner and tried not to think of a recurring dream he’d been having since the filming had started.

He most definitely was not thinking about the dream as he ate and drank and stared at the paused pilot episode.

Almost as if on cue, the phone rang the second Niall finished eating.

“Hey, it’s Louis. Got your email, you’re so cute.”

Niall coughed, “Um, thanks. Uh- I kind of have to tell you something? So, I’m glad you called.”

“What’s up,” Louis managed to sound a bit concerned.

“I’m not straight.”

Silence.

Then, Louis chuckled, “Okay, Niall. You do know I wasn’t hitting on you though, right? I don’t like to mix work and personal matters. But, hey, if you’re gay, that’s alright, you know, I am too… Did you want to talk about it or something?”

“No. I mean, no, I’m not gay either. I kind of don’t know what I am, but I just wanted to say in case it affected the show?” Niall had asked it like it was a question, but really, it wasn’t. He knew he had to tell Louis at some point, but as far as the show goes, he would try to do everything possible to avoid the subject.

“Oh. Well, no, Niall. Yeah, it’s reality tv, but I’d never hurt you or want you to be uncomfortable. If that’s not something you want to share with the viewers, we simply won’t go near it. That’s fine. Thanks for telling me, but yeah, it’s cool.”

Niall exhaled, “Thanks, Louis. Really. I’ve been in relationships before. I’ve even been in love, but I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore? I’m in a weird place.”

“Hey. You can always talk to me, Niall. Off the record. I’m the oldest of a house full of siblings. I’m told I’m a good listener and I can give some good advice if I filter my mind and think about what I’m going to say properly,” Louis promised.

“Okay, well, actually…. Can I tell you about something else then? It’s sort of odd, like I don’t really get it myself,” Niall added softly.  
Louis made a noise of curiosity, letting him know he could go on.

“Ever since we started the show, I’ve been having this strange dream. Almost every night since. Recurring dream, they call it. So, what happens is I’m standing on a street somewhere and the camera crew is with me and they want to start filming. I tell them it’s okay to start and then this orange fog comes rolling in and they can’t see me. And I’m trapped in this stuff, right? So, I can’t move or hear them or anything. It’s just weird. It feels important, and starting the show might have triggered it or something, so what do you think it might mean,” he rattled off.

“Wow, okay. I don’t know much about dreamology (*It's called oneirology, if you're wondering) or whatever it’s called, but that seems very symbolic. Maybe it is as simple as that you’re confused where the show is going to go, so that’s why you’re dreaming of being in a fog? As for the orange, I don’t know,” Louis offered.

Niall hesitates and then admits, “I… I do like orange. But, I don’t like it in dreams. It actually bothers me when it shows up in my dreams, despite it being my favorite color when I’m awake.”

“Oh. How about we see if it happens again tonight, and then we can talk about it again tomorrow after the meeting for Episode Two?”  
“Okay, thank you for listening, Louis.”

Niall was just relieved to get it off his chest, and felt loads better when they hung up. See, it’s not even an issue really, but with how the world views sexuality, he is not stupid; he knows how he would be perceived as a reality television star should it ever come up.

He went to bed early that night, dreaming yet again of being trapped in an orange haze.

**Louis**

Unbalanced. He can’t breathe. Or he doesn’t want to.

Stumbling.

He is quite literally stumbling through the street.

It’s a Monday.

The meeting to discuss the second episode had just ended and it managed to be highly disorganized, even though Louis had color coordinated notes and a detailed Excel sheet.

Now, he was making his way to a quaint little bakery called Oliver’s with Niall, as they had planned to discuss Niall’s dreams more in depth.

The two men were welcomed by an animated cashier with a name tag, Harry.

“Hi, this is Oliver’s and I’m Harry! What can I do for you two gentlemen?”

“We’ll take two blueberry scones and some of the tea of the day, please,” Niall ordered for the both of them.

Looking surprised, Louis squeaks out but smiles, “Niall, I’ve never seen you so commanding and sure of yourself. You just ordered like it was nobody’s business! Didn’t even ask me. I’m almost impressed.”

“I’m sorry. I just come here a lot and I know what’s good. Sorry… Plus, I figured you wouldn’t be able to say even a word with that cute cashier checking you out,” Niall said, shrugging.

Oh.

“Niall! Of course, he is cute, but whatever. This is about you, not me. Or curly haired cashiers.”

Their order was ready and Niall grabbed it as Louis picked seats conveniently in the cash register’s line of sight.

They discussed Niall’s dream and made little progress as to why he kept dreaming it, other than perhaps the dream version of him had some kind of unfinished business and maybe he subconsciously planned on finishing said business in his waking self during the show.

On their way out, Louis wanted to be cheeky so he strolled up to the tip jar, with both the tip and a slip of paper he had written his number on. He winked at Harry, making sure to wave the money so the note could be seen before dropping it into the jar.

**Harry**

Harry would be a fool to not call the number that was left in the tip jar attached to an actual tip. He would also be a fool to not know who had left such a tip.

Clearly, he had misread the situation at the bakery a few days ago. The two men he had taken orders from were not in fact together, and the smaller one was hitting on him.

He called the number but not knowing the man’s name didn’t help.

“Hello, this is Harry. From the bakery,” he added on at the last second.

“Ah, yes. Lovely Harry, from the bakery. I’m Louis. I was hoping you’d call,” the voice said, and Harry could have sworn he could actually hear the man smiling.

“I think I like you, Harry from the bakery,” Louis whispered.

Oh no.

“Um, Louis?”

“Oh, no.” Harry almost laughed. It was as if Louis had read his mind.

“Oh, no. Harry, please tell me you like me too and that I’ve not lost my touch. Otherwise, I can never show my face in that bakery ever again. I’ll be far too embarrassed.”

“No, no! I like you too. I just, it’s a bad time. It’s not the best time for me to do any relationships, or… anything of any kind right now. I’m sorry. But, I’d love to be friends,” Harry grimaced, knowing how it must feel to hear such things, as it wasn’t that long ago that he was on the receiving end.

It was, after all, why he was here working at Oliver’s.

“I’m not looking for anything, Harry. I just wanted to make sure that I hadn’t lost my touch. I just wanted confirmation that I was giving off a vibe and you picked up on it too and kinda feel the same. That’s all,” Louis replied, though Harry could hear slight disappointment in his voice.

“I actually was calling about whether it would be possible for Oliver’s to help out with my production company’s lunch needs. I’m sure you know the one, it’s the only one in town. 

But, yes, dear Harry, we could use whatever you have for making sandwiches or treats for desserts. It would only really need to be for the monthly meetings when a lot of us are there for the entire day and there’s no time to stop midday for lunch….” Louis rambled.

“Yes, of course. I’m sure it’s no problem. I’ll ask and confirm tomorrow though! And Louis, please don’t be mad. Come by the bakery tomorrow. I’ll let you know if the lunch thing is okay, and maybe we can hang out after my shift. It ends at 4. I want to explain things. I want us to be friends because I think you’re the kind of person I need in my life,” Harry said urgently, hoping Louis understood that he couldn’t promise anything more than a friendship but also that they seemed to need each other in a way that neither could name.

“Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow, Harry from the bakery,” Louis said one more time.

Here was an amazing guy, wanting more than he was letting on, and Harry had to protect himself because his past was still haunting him, preventing him from seeing a future with anyone.

Harry was frustrated. A tear fell unexpectedly and as he wiped it away, he wondered why tears weren’t blue.

**Liam**

He doubts himself. The gamble is too huge if he isn’t right.

He can never afford to miss his mark.

It’s times like these when he has to be ready for the unexpected.

Sometimes, he lets go of all control. Some days, he sleeps his problems away, dreaming of feeling at peace, at last. Other times, he follows structure, only to grasp at air when it all has already fallen. But always, he overcompensates.

What was his limit?

He swims in a ridiculous, irrelevant stream of consciousness and focuses back in on the child he is trying to save.

It’s moments like these that he has to forget everything that distracts him, ignore how he perceives himself, and just work.

And he does it, he always manages to amount to his potential and find the solution to whatever the child laying before him is afflicted with.

Just in time.

It’s stressful but he does it.

And with every single one he saves, there is something like hope that builds up inside of him.

Of course, there are some he can’t save, and those are the lost ones. Those are the ones that destroy each piece of hope that resides in him.

His breaking point is what keeps him anchored to the hospital but it also maxes out his limits.

Usually, he goes to the gym, straight for the punching bag, or he stays at home and takes the extra energy out on himself. On wherever he can reach, on places that his uniform will cover up.

It’s ironic. He’s a doctor that (more often than not) can heal everyone except himself.

He needs someone or something to distract him so that he can find peace yet again.

He decides, for the first time in a long time, to go for a run.

**Zayn**

Zayn wasn’t at a point in his life where he could properly define “happy.”

He understood what it meant for other people, of course; but, for him, it was just a word. Just a label.

He’s always been the kind of guy to be on the move. It was just in his nature.

Maybe he was selfish in this way.

He is consistently selfless in so many aspects of his life, that for once, he figured he could be healthily selfish in this one thing.

This passion of running.

The past month had been exceptionally bad for him, so he wanted to exert all of his frustration into a nice, long sprint.

But, when he let his emotions get the best of him in these kinds of moments, he got sloppy in his technique. The kind of clumsy where he had to be unnaturally aware of every step he took so as not to fall over as he had a tendency to do when he forgot himself in the monotony of jogging.

He’s not sure how it happened.

One minute he’s running down the familiar path through the city, the next he’s on the ground, waking up.

Laying there, he feels woozy. His fingers slowly find their way to his head.

They’re covered in red. Sticky.

 _Oh, it’s blood. I’m bleeding,_ he thought, and for some unknown reason, Zayn found it a little funny. Running, his one saving grace, managed to be the one thing that hurt him more than the rest of his stressful life.

“Sir!” A voice and footsteps approaching.

“I’m Liam. I’m a doctor. I’ve got you. Hang in there,” the voice says, and Zayn blinks. The voice is soft. It’s warm. He sees the man call an ambulance.

He wakes up in a hospital room, connected to tubes and there’s something wrapped around his head.

“Hey,” the doctor that saved him walks in and says.

_What was his name? Logan? Leon?_

“I’m Liam, from earlier. I’m the doctor that found you,” he says. _Ah, Liam._

“My head hurts,” Zayn says, as it’s the first thing that comes to mind that doesn’t have to do with the beautiful brown eyes staring at him.

“So, the doctor that was signed onto your case said you literally ran into something and it caused the gash in your head. They stitched it up, and you should be fine, but maybe take it easy for a while, okay?”

“Why am I not your patient?”

“Oh. I’m in pediatrics. The babies and children.”

“Thank you, for getting me here, Doctor Liam,” Zayn says, but he is drowsy.

He wants to say so much more, but he can’t bring himself to. Sleep is coming, he feels it.

He wants to tell Liam to call him at the very least, but it wouldn’t be appropriate in this setting.

He wants to ask him to stop by tomorrow at least when he isn’t in pain and out of it, but the sleep is coming.

He shuts his eyes and hears the door shut quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imprisonedbytheirlove on tumblr, if you have any questions or concerns.


	4. Continuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The conclusion, finally. 
> 
> As per usual, the colors have been and continue to be a major part of this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must give a shoutout to Derek, for pushing me to finish this. Also, you can blame him for what you’re about to read. There was one day when I asked him what kind of ending this fic deserved, and he simply said “Bittersweet,” so I hope I do it justice. 
> 
> Also, @abcdefg, your comment motivated me to really reevaluate how I wanted to finish this fic. Thanks. :) 
> 
> Here’s a secret: I may have actually wrote this before the previous chapter…

**Niall**

For Niall, it ended with an offer. 

“We’d like to turn your show into a movie.” 

All he could do in that moment was shake Louis’ hand and politely say, “Thank you.” 

He would be more embarrassed over that later. 

He would properly celebrate a few nights later and buy Louis a drink. Or five. 

He would lay in bed one night, a year later, and think about how his life changed the moment a man named Louis Tomlinson had bought a ticket to his comedy show, later offering him a slot for a reality television show. 

Right before falling asleep that night, he would realize that it was the first time in a year that he hadn’t dreamed in orange. And, it was, in fact, okay. 

**Louis**

For Louis, it ended with appreciation as he looked at Niall’s success from his place as a proud mentor.

Louis looked out the window and saw a sign that had blown over laying on the grass across the street, promoting Niall’s new show, _Talk with me, Laugh with me._

It was an interactive show where Niall returned to his stand up roots for the first half of the show, then had an intimate discussion with the audience where they were free to share stories and relax.

The movie had been a success, and Niall had been offered so many more opportunities because of it.

The local bakery, Oliver’s, even partnered up with Mr. Horan to start a partnership called “Infectious Confections,” so that fans could enjoy treats during Niall’s shows.

He took a deep breath and then found himself smiling.

He had done that, Louis himself. Of course, it was mostly Niall. But Louis had helped get the man the success he deserved.

The sign was bright green, with white letters per Niall’s demand to represent his love of his home country, with which Louis would not argue.

Louis stuck the sign back into the ground so it was visible to more than just people standing over it. He looked back at the sign as he walked away, and figured things would be okay.

**Harry**

For Harry, it ended with moving on.

It was an especially busy week for Harry at Oliver’s.

He was in charge of decorating the newest treats to be added to Niall’s “Infectious Confections” collection. He also had to run over to the only production studio in town at lunchtime for the monthly meeting, that just so happened to be during that week, with fresh buns for sandwiches. And okay, maybe he was also looking to talk to Louis Tomlinson, who had just been promoted to senior director.

He had something to tell him.

It was his final week with the bakery.

He knew he would miss this place. Especially the blue sky. It didn’t seem to rain much in this particular part of town. He figured it had to do with all the amazing people surrounding him.

But, it was time to return home. And Louis would understand that more than most people. Louis would be okay, and in turn, so would Harry.

**Liam**

For Liam, it ended with a sunset.

Reassurance.

That was all he had signed up for when he knew he wanted to become a doctor.

To be reassured that a patient he treated would be okay after he helped them heal. To be reassured that he had a purpose in life: that he could take care of someone, a stranger in the street or a family member in a moment’s notice.

It had been 386 days since Liam had seen little Alex leave the hospital with her parents, somehow miraculously entering remission from a nasty kind of cancer.

He had always wanted to help kids because they’re truly vulnerable to some of the strangest diseases, yet somehow they remain bright and strong and brave.

He admires them so much in so many ways that it took 386 days for him to take a step back and learn to admire himself as well, rather than doubt and criticize and take the uncontrollable out on himself.

He sits on his balcony and sighs, but it is not a heavy sigh, full of regret or guilt. It is of a resigned contentedness somehow, that he can only do so much and sometimes that is enough.

The sunset had some violet in it that night. A sign things were okay for the moment, and honestly, that’s all he needed.

**Zayn**

For Zayn, it ended with a whisper.

Exercising yet again.

Losing himself in the passion of moving yet again.

He imagines brown eyes in the reflection of the buildings he passes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t see soft ones like Liam’s staring back at him, rather than his own.

He runs nowhere in particular, not anymore.

But, he heads towards what looks like a tiny red speck on the horizon, merely because he chooses it on a whim. It stuck out to him, among all the green trees and yellow-white lights of the city before him.

…Well, maybe he didn’t choose it randomly. Maybe that red speck in the distance is actually the glowing sign on top of the hospital. And maybe, there was something forming on his tongue as he started to make his way towards it, something left unsaid to a particular doctor within that hospital’s walls.

He paces himself and whispers softly, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m imprisonedbytheirlove on tumblr, if you have any questions or concerns. 
> 
> Well, this one is finally over. As I said, stuff happened and I lost immense track of time. I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Okay, so maybe the relationship tags are not quite suited to this story, but hopefully the ending sort of shows an implied nature between Larry and Ziam. Even if it’s not necessarily romantic, they mean a lot to each other, okay? 
> 
> We’re all a mixture of colors, and it will all turn out okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm imprisonedbytheirlove on tumblr, if you have any questions. :)


End file.
